Beside me, Sam's grinning like the devil. "You done defending your husband's honor, Mrs. Westbrook?"
"Shut up," I hiss, crossing my arms and sinking lower into my seat.
By the time the second period starts, the energy's shifted completely. The Warriors look sharper—more locked in. Whatever Coach Hopper said in the locker room clearly worked, because in the first five minutes, they burytwo goals.
Elijah nails the first one with a laser from the slot, thanks to a clean setup from Liam and Cody. The second comes minutes later—Zach takes a perfect feed from Elijah, cuts through Northpoint's defense like it's nothing, and fires it top shelf. The puck snaps against the net, and the arenaerupts.
The stands are shaking. The Ridgewater crowd's on their feet, roaring. Even Sam's shrieking beside me, clutching my arm.
"Two–zero! Let's go, Eli baby!" she yells, jumping like the world's happiest cheerleader.
I can't help it—I'm grinning too. The tension from earlier's gone, replaced by pure adrenaline. Every pass, every shot, every hit feels electric.
And just when it seems like the period's winding down, Zach snatches a loose puck near center ice—breakaway.
The whole arena holds its breath. He speeds down the rink, one-on-one with the goalie. A quick deke, a sharp wrist shot—goal.
The horn blares, the crowd explodes. Sam and I are up on our feet again, screaming ourselves hoarse as the scoreboard flashes 3–0 RIDGEWATER.
Zach pumps a fist in the air before turning back toward the bench, grinning like a maniac as his teammates swarm him. My heart's still racing when they finally skate off toward the tunnel, the sound of sticks tapping on the ice echoing all the way down the hall.
A second later, the Zamboni rumbles out, the crowd still crackling with post-goal excitement.
"I forgot how fun this feels," I say, still a little breathless. "The crowd, the noise, the rush—God, I missed this."
Sam laughs, bumping my shoulder. "Told you. There's no high like game-night energy. It's basically free therapy with screaming."
"I know!" I grin, grabbing my cup of iced tea because my throat's sandpaper from yelling so much. I take a long sip, sighing. "I forgot how wild it gets. It's like... instant serotonin."
Sam eyes me, smirking. "So what I'm hearing is... you're officially coming to more games?"
I roll my eyes, pretending to think about it. "Maybe. Not every game though. I'm already dying with my current schedule, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," she waves it off. "Just saying—it's nice seeing you here again. Feels like old times. You, me, screaming our lungs out cheering for my Eli and my brother."
I shake my head, smiling.
Sam's grin softens a little. "He's playing so good tonight. Like—really good. Haven't seen him like this in a long time."
I glance toward the rink, curious. "He's always good, though."
"Yeah, but this feels different," Sam says. "The last few years while you were gone, Zach played like a man possessed—rough, short-fused, always the first to drop gloves or start something, getting penalties left and right. Mom and I used to joke he was one suspension away from getting kicked off the team."
She pauses, eyes flicking back toward the ice where the Zamboni glides past.
"But tonight? He's got that old spark back—he's grinning, being playful. That's the Zach I remember from high school. It's like he's actually having fun again, like he remembered why he fell in love with the game in the first place."
Sam elbows me lightly, that teasing grin creeping back.
"You know what I think? That shift has you written all over it. His original cheerleader's back—watching him play, cheering for him again... and suddenly, he's all inspired."
I blow out a little puff of air, half a laugh, half a scoff. "Yeah, right," I say, waving her off like it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
I try to ignore it, but there's a part of me—a small, traitorous, curious part—that can't help wondering if she's right.
Still, I try to shake it off.
Sam's probably exaggerating anyway.
